Chapter Text
Prologue:
The entire region was virtually empty as it whistled with wind.
Oppressively empty.
In the suffocating heat of the T'nako desert, far from any semblance of civilisation, few 'mons dare to travel this time of year. It was the middle of summer, with the only respite being the few hours at night when temperatures fell to tolerable levels.
The only living things around were those capable of surviving in such extreme climates. One would often see a few Cacnea dotting the landscape. The occasional Diglett or Sandshrew ventured to the surface, only to burrow deep underground again, away from the blazing sun.
However, even these Pokemon had taken for any shelter available, after a particularly ferocious sandstorm had picked up steam within the desert. Particulates were scattered all around the air, rendering visibility near non-existent.
That was, except for a lone traveller. Trudging blindly against the dunes of sand.
A Jolteon, outfitted with a small knapsack containing supplies, clenched a roll of parchment in their maw.
Struggling against the rough winds of the raging sandstorm, a particularly fierce burst of wind wrenched the paper out of the Jolteon's crooked clamp, who could only watch in despair as it flew away, now buffeted into the air and swallowed by the surrounding curtains of sand.
After an eternity of fighting against the wind, the sandstorm had subsided and the lone 'mon had finally arrived at the edge of the vast desert. With the sand no longer threatening to blow into one's eye, a few trees could be seen beginning to pepper between the increasing foliage; a brook meandered off into the distance. The Jolteon, with the pressure from the winds subsiding, rushed desperately towards the greenery, towards salvation. After a mad dash and having thrown the bag aside, the electric type went towards the water's edge to plunge headfirst under the surface. Gulping down the cool liquid greedily, having long run out from the arduous trip.
Eventually popping out from below, with fur matted from the impromptu shower. Only stopping for some much-needed air.
Thirst quenched, the Jolteon retrieved the bag and collapsed within the shrubbery underneath the shade of a majestic oak, its mighty boughs swaying in the slight wind. Only then did they reach within the backpack, to pull out a pawful of barely recognisable, shrivelled berries. Sighing, the Jolteon chewed unenthusiastically on the bitter, hardened fruit, making a face all the while. A paw came up to gently tussle their fur, whilst they once more furiously scrambled within the knapsack, digging with fervour, manifesting with urgency, only to come up short. Defeated, the Jolteon leaned against the gnarled surface of the ancient oak, back pressed firmly, a steadiness seemed to flow from bark to Pokemon.
Now having relaxed, the Jolteon's eyes darkened and a scowl formed upon its face, visibly withdrawing inwards, perhaps in contemplation. Eventually, however, exhaustion started to set in, with eyes drooping and head nodding off. That was until the Jolteon immediately snapped to attention at the sound of pawsteps approaching.
"And who might you be?" From a good distance away, an intimidating, steely voice cuts through the air; a gravel-like pointedness conveyed itself from the timbre of the shadowy figure. The Jolteon squinted at the obscured Pokemon currently crouching behind the shrubbery from which the voice originated.
"Greetings, I have trekked past the desert as an official envoy from the Kingdom of—"
"You crossed the desert?" the voice bluntly interrupted, "I'm afraid you've broken the agreement between our kingdoms."
"Yes, however, you must understand, I'm on a diplomatic mission."
A brief scuffle could be heard from the undergrowth. "Tauros-shit. I highly doubt someone in your state is an official. Where is your entourage? Your official decree?"
"You see, a fierce sandstorm—"
"As far as I'm aware you're nothing but a liar or worse, an outlaw or criminal. You'll need to head back," the voice ordered, laced with hostility.
The Jolteon stared in the direction of the voice, body rigid, possibly from the shock and indignation. Hidden amongst the murky shade of the lush copse’s thickets, a pair of baleful red eyes could be seen in opposition to the vivid yellows of the Jolteon. The predatory stare darted to and fro across his form.
"I'm afraid, I just must get to Dzagar," the self-proclaimed diplomat asserts, taking a few steps further into the plains, towards the grove that gave shade to the voice. The figure hissed, causing the Jolteon to pause, with a foreleg hovering in front as if to take another step forward.
"Not one more pawstep, trespasser."
The Jolteon hesitated, but with a fitting determination, locked a searing gaze with those red eyes. He then gently placed his paw further onto the grass
Chapter 1:
It was always the same old boring routine for this particular Flareon.
Wake up early, breakfast, literature, arithmetic, language acquisition, lunch, intense training, stacks and stacks of historical, political, and military content, a sliver of free time, supper with Father, and retire for the night.
‘Just my schedule sounds boring!’ The thought popped into his mind. He frowned slightly with an ear flick, realising the immaturity in this analysis.
Thousands upon thousands of other Pokemon would be outside, toiling in the fields, or fighting in far-off wars. And he in comparison? Well, he managed to cast a perfect roll on the die of good fortune and be blessed to live this comfortable life.
Not that he would mind being on the frontlines, fighting for glory and prestige. No. Instead, he was stuck in the library, with only the distinct smell of old parchment paper wafting around the room to accompany him. Rows and rows of ancient books, lined to the ceiling, most of which likely to never be read.
He had always been rather fortunate though, what right did he have to complain? Yet it had to be said that, looking back on his life up to this point, it would be hard not to pity him despite all of the good fortunes.
For the better part of his life, the sounds of children's laughter could be heard ringing throughout the palace. Such was another day in the life of the budding youths. Two little Eevees would commonly be seen running through the halls, causing a ruckus. Those carefree smiles that seemed to follow youth were aplenty here.
However, time gets the best of all good things, and this pair of Eevees had no clue that their days of fun and games were soon drawing to a close. Ever since the older brother’s tenth birthday, the sudden absence could be felt thereafter. Leaving the palace staff to despair at what had happened to the once bubbly personality. Despite this, the games quickly resumed, for the younger royal found a friend within the daughter of an influential duke.
Around two seasons later, the younger’s own tenth birthday had abruptly arrived. Soon after the festivities, he now had a suspicion as to why he never really saw his dear old brother again.
“And, from now on we will be placing more expectations on you to create a Pokemon more befitting your royal title. More structure and rigour will be needed in you, Felix. This training and education will do you good for the future as a rightful prince of Oudia,” the king had said.
The two Pokemon had sat in opposition in the open space of the garden. A nervous Eevee trembled before the towering Flareon.
“P-papa?”
“It’s ‘Your Majesty’.” Palladius had nodded at the stony-faced King’s guard—A Machamp—who took to hovering around the young prince with a solemn seriousness, the stiff and expectant posture had unnerved him, the guard was loyal beyond a fault.
Unprovoked, a column of flames had hurtled towards the Eevee and on instinct he bounded to one side, the tip of his tail catching on fire. The next logical move was obvious to him: Frantically wave his tail with reckless abandon.
“Dodge and fight, son!”
He had stomped on the embers caught in his tail and steeled his nerves to dash forward, faster than his paws could seemingly take him, eventually closing the gap and landing a blow against his father’s flank, glancing off his luscious mane. Seeing only colours, he had then rammed once more, only to topple forward when the resistance from his father’s body disappeared. His father had bounded away. Felix’s heart had been in his throat and he could only muster a choked growl, the sound had feebly shrivelled up in the air of the open garden.
Palladius had hesitated, frowning at him, the furrows of his features intensified, that was until he began spewing tiny bursts of fire towards Felix. He had been scared, running and blindly swinging, haphazardly weaving between what had felt like a maelstrom of fire. That was about all the prince could remember from the encounter afterwards—having ran and swung wildly in a macabre dance of fire and singed fur.
It came to no surprise, really, when he had finally been struck by a glowing star and landed on his side with a skid.
“More training, then. I had hoped you would have been stronger by now.” The king had settled down beside him, a shooting star flitting above the majestic Flareon’s head.
The Eevee gulped and winced from the sore tenderness he felt from the fight, eyes squeezed tight, the uniquely putrid scent of sizzling fur accompanied his torment.
“You’re ten now, and as our tradition dictates,” Palladius had paused, before huffing, “Child, open your eyes!” He had done so, staring paltrily into the severe purple gaze of his father.
Palladius had sighed, disappointed he reckoned. “Little one, hope and believe, inevitably you’ll be of good health and safety. Your lineage assures it.” His father’s harsh purple eyes had softened by the smallest degree as his large paw caressed the small divot in his right ear.
He had hesitantly done so, closing his eyes to focus on prayer, a presence whizzed above him. A pause, one breath, two breaths, before a rejuvenating warmth spread through his chest.
“Good, now hold out your paw and choose.” He cautiously opened one eye, to see an array of eight colourful stones: Red, yellow, aqua, purple, cream… It was the choice. “Reach out, Felix, pick one.”
The choice seemed obvious to him.
It had been nearly five seasons since that fateful day.
“And from there we can easily—” A rather loud sigh managed to break through Felix’s stoic defences.
The Noctowl paused for a second and looked back. “What was that, young prince?”
“Nothing, Sir Matthews.”
“Well you better not have ‘nothing’ disrupt my lecture,” the knight said, face scrunched, visibly disappointed. “We both know the importance of your education, Prince Felix. You are royalty and maybe you should start acting as such.” Muttering under his breath, he turned his head in a half circle to continue on with the analysis of military doctrines and troop formations.
Felix returned to attentively looking at the diagrams, however as time passed the focus drained out of him once again. His gaze started to wander around the large library, a rectangular room with curved walls, where all his lectures took place. Now having tuned the incessant droning out, his eyes drifted upwards to more rows of dusty tomes which overlooked him on the upper floor. His eyes focused on a specific, thick, blue spine, standing out amongst the countless other faded books, struggling to read the flowery inscription from afar:
‘Tales and Accounts of the Greatest ‘Mons of the Past Centennium.’
He sighed, internally this time. His heart longed for something other than this status quo.
How he wondered what the life of a pioneering adventurer, or a weathered sailor must have been like. The smell of melancholic rain and morning dew; the salty ocean and scorching sun bringing him into the world of a different light, one of fantasies. Anything. Anywhere. Rather that than be stuck within the boundaries of Father’s palace for days on end.
“And that’s the general usage of cavalry in staging the initial attack.” The sudden conclusion shook the prince out of his stupor.
“Felix, I recommend you pay more attention next time.” Sir Matthews sighed, “I understand this is hard but,” he hesitated for a moment, abruptly deciding against continuing. “Well, you’re free to go for now. Be sure to study up on cavalry positions.”
“Yes, sir.” Excusing himself, he immediately rushed out through the wide doorway which punctured the neat pattern of bookshelves, finally freed from his tutoring session.
He trotted into one of the two great halls of the palace, bustling with activity from maids and monservants, who hurriedly made way before him as he walked. His spirits significantly lifted, after exiting the previously muted, sombre atmosphere of the library, to being thrust into the bright lights from the setting sun dancing across the walls from the stained glass. It was a welcome break from that monotony.
His mouth watered from the delicate waft of delicacies and baked goods of the kitchen, of dishes being exquisitely prepared, the aroma of which floated in from the antechamber off to the side. Looking up to admire the architecture, he marvelled at the marble arches and tastefully inlaid wooden features. Tapestries hung at each end and banners flew above the windows. Despite having grown up in this place since birth, he couldn't help appreciating the handiwork.
He walked around the large table being set and prepared. Amiable greetings from staff floated his way, a kindly young porter Ampharos bowed slightly and waved a jovial flipper as he went by.
Mustering only some brief nods and a curt smile, he continued along; with each step he took, the previous burst of loftiness only dissipated further, to be replaced with an increasingly cagey pose. His violet eyes forward-focused, yet distant, the trot had devolved into a grind of paws along carpeted floor.
Pokemon around him took the hint and gave him a wide berth. Most chalked it up to the stress of his duties for the upcoming event they were preparing for, largely unaware of his true internal turmoil.
Thus was the life of nearly fifteen seasons old, Prince Felix. From the outside, a life all would envy. To most others, he wasn’t particularly remarkable, besides, of course, his esteemed titles. Then again, most others didn't know much about Felix or had any clue what the younger prince was like, as compared to the socially outgoing heir-apparent. Yet, it couldn’t be helped that the question came naturally: ‘What was there to brood about for the second prince of the sublime king of Oudia?’
“Heya, Felix~” A sing-songy voice could be heard floating above the din of servants, along with the subtle jingling of that unmistakable emerald necklace, his concentration broke; the unmistakable shape of a Sylveon expertly weaved around them, her fur had a majestic sheen, pristinely groomed.
“Hello to you too, Emmy,” he responded rather grumpily.
“What’s gotten you down, ‘Lix?” She cocked an eyebrow.
“Ah well, only the usual feeling of immense pressure and despair,” Felix responded, in a fake-cheerful, sarcastic voice.
“Aww.” Her ears drooped slightly for a moment. “Way to bring the mood down. But, I do get how you feel though, especially in the run-up to the visit from King Ziren. Same sort of Muk with my parents. ‘Courtesy this’ or ‘Clean that’.” She huffed, expressing her displeasure. “You understand how irritating that is, right? Y’know sometimes I wish that they would cut me some slack, it’s as if my entire life revolves around their plans, ughh, how annoying!” Emmy rambled on and on, her words—a waterfall—flowing past Felix.
With a dainty nod, he absentmindedly agreed. He meandered down the hall, passing by evenly spaced marble columns, the loud-mouthed Sylveon jabbered behind him. Crossing a few corridors, past side chambers, they came up to a set of delicately carved wooden gates, ajar. An embossed pattern of an Umbreon with a calm moon on one door, and an Espeon with a brilliant sun on the other, both smiling faintly in front of a beautifully depicted meadow landscape, heads leaned inward. In an instant, anyone could mentally reimagine the cute and picturesque scene formed when the doors were closed.
The duo walked out along the path into the spacious greenery of the courtyard, Emmy taking the lead, somehow talking all the while. They eventually ended up by the fountain in the middle. An intricately sculpted Vaporeon with three limbs outstretched in completely different directions, striking a pose that could give a ballerina a run for their money, water flowing from its mouth. Surrounded by rings of bushes, they settled down on one of the four wooden benches facing the calm and gentle bubbling of the cascading water, the smell of freshly preened grass permeating the air.
“Well, I suppose that’s just how seeds work, huh? Pretty cool. How about you, Felix?
“Felix?”
Seeing no response, Emmy nudged the Flareon with one swift motion, startling him.
“Ack-”
“You know, it’s not as if I’m clueless, Mister High-and-Mighty Prince Felix,” Emmy said, taking care to stress every syllable in ‘High-and-Mighty’. “You’ve been a bit moody for the longest time, I just attributed it to, well, us being at this age and all, but it really seemed to flare up recently.” She giggled. “You need to open up once in a while. So please, talk to me, we’ve been friends since basically forever!”
“It’s nothing, Em.” He looked away, attempting to dismiss her. Earlier frustrations started to float back up to the surface.
“C’mon Felix. Is it something about your brother again? She inched closer, staring intently at him, vibrating with expectancy. “Oh! Oh! Is it girls?”
He grimaced sheepishly. “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s a bit more”—he took a deep breath—“It’s a bit more personal… and difficult to, uh, explain.”
“Oh. Well in my experience, whenever I rant to you I feel so much better afterwards.” She smiled gently, her energy levelling off. “So now’s the perfect time to get that off your chest!”
“I just,” he strained. His face contorted slightly, notched ear fluttering, struggling, forming jumbling thoughts.
“I’m all ears, you know I won’t judge. If it’s bothering you so much, just let it out for Mew’s sake, I would be glad to listen.”
“It’s as if…” He sighed. “Well it’s as if I’m just the backup heir, I feel so meaningless.”
Once his words started, they couldn’t stop, like a tidal wave they poured. “I mean, take Father for example. It’s as if to him I’m not here half the time, that I’m not entirely tangible, to him I don’t exist, or frankly, matter.
“For once, I want to actually… do something. Something important. Something new. Something distinctly,”
…
…
…
“Me.”